


That 90s AU

by Iseutz



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Modern AU, Multi, Romance, Slice of Life, Smutt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-02-17 02:04:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13066857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iseutz/pseuds/Iseutz
Summary: Modern AU set in the late 90s. Selendri goes to Vesuvia High, her best friend is a sassy redhead called Portia, who has a brother... and what a brother!There will be fluff, there will be smutt, there will be angst. But mostly, there will be a ton of music, movies and general pre-2K references for the nostalgic indulgent. Join the ride!





	1. The First One

The girls all thought that Julian Devorak was a loonie, but also that he was really handsome. That was the exact word; not hot, dreamy or sexy: _handsome_. He appeared to have the strongest bad boy charm, with his leather boots and auburn hair, and –apparently- a smile so sweet you would have sold your mama to buy him smokes. Despite his glamour, tho, I never met a girl who actually had any first-hand experience of the boy: he was too much, they said, with his coat that looked like a cloak and that pirate eyepatch. The kid tried too hard. And he was a junkie, everybody knew that.

I knew for a fact that he wasn’t, because my best friend was his sister Portia and thanks to her I had a much less romanticized image of him: it’s hard to find intriguing someone when you hear him constantly being referred to as “Dummy” and “Banana boy”. Quite surprisingly, though, I had never seen him. I wasn’t a “going out” girl (we lived too far from the city center) and he was bigger than us, went to med school and wasn’t simply around the time that I was. When I met him, anyway, he managed to make the whole thing unforgettable.

I was fifteen, almost sixteen and in full high school flow: I started my first year as a quiet wallflower, just like I spent the whole secondary school, to avoid bullies. I gave off extraordinary punching ball vibes and the last three years had been nothing short of atrocious, so I was prepared to keep the lowest profile possible at Vesuvia High. But then, something happened; or rather it didn’t: kids acted normally with me. Even the bunch that came from my old school, once in the bigger pond became neutral to me. Everybody was too nervous for the new environment, too eager to get into its game, to care about me. And I cautiously raised my head and started too look around. I allowed myself a personality and, even though I never became popular I escaped the “nerd” label for this time (and I’m talking about the late ‘90s, when nerd wasn’t really _in_ ). That’s when I met Portia, in literature class; she was, bluntly speaking, the sole properly alphabetized person in the class, and she enjoyed books, too: we bonded over a copy of _Of Love and Other Demons_ and by the end of the hour we were pretty sure to be soulmates. I spent a lot of afternoon at her place, with the excuse to study, watching videos on Mtv. They still had music videos… good days. In all this, I never ran into Julian; there had been signs of his presence, of course- a door closing when I arrived, music playing from his room, a lot of bands t-shirts drying on the rack in the bathroom, but all in all in all he looked like a guy who liked to guard his personal space, and he kept religiously away from our girl time.

When I finally met him, I was into band t-shirts myself: I was well halfway my second year, and the times were ripe for me to dive headfirst into my rebellious phase: I wore a lot of black kajal, black clothes and leather cuffs, and I tried with every mean to look different and mysterious. It wasn’t a bold choice: grunge was still all the rage and a lot of girls wore torn pants and Dr Martens. I tried to look more on the gothic/punk side, but back then spiked collars and velvet dresses were harder to find than you think, and I didn’t have a lot of money. In the pictures from those years I look decently ridiculous, but I was sixteen and those clothes were my armor. The t-shirt I was wearing that night sported a full-body Marilyn Manson wearing a guepière and a collection of bleeding cuts. My mother hated it with a passion, and I hadn’t permission to wear it at school, but this evening it boldly adorned my otherwise scrawny chest while me and Portia lounged on the velvet sofa of her living room, listlessly zapping from channel to channel. It had been pouring for hours and I was cringing at the thought of the half-an-hour-by-bike that awaited me on my way home; I had been pushing the thought away hour after hour, delving in a long and detailed discussion concerning the Guns ‘n Roses members and their most probable bedding habits: Portia had a thing for Duff McKagan and the unwritten rule of our friendship was to always enable the other part’s fantasies, especially those about rockstars or fiction characters; we could happily spend hours sorting all the characters from _The Lost Boys_ from best to worst musicians. Today we’d call it headcanoning.

7 PM and I had no more excuses. I sat up, every inch of my body dripping reluctance “Well, I have to go”.  
-But it’s raining cats and dogs- Portia looked up from her mandala coloring book. Man, were we into that shit.  
-I know, but I have to be home for dinner. I wouldn’t say no to a little flu… maybe I can skip math test tomorrow.  
-Are you sure?- Portia followed me into the doorway. I smelled the dinner that Mazelinka had already started cooking. Mazelinka was a family friend; Portia called her “aunt”, but she wasn’t a relative, just a friend from Granma Devorak, and when the kids had moved to the city they had come to live with her. Portia and Julian came from Nevivon, and it was common that young people were sent from their families to Vesuvia to attend high school or college. Hopes on education as a gateway for a better future appeared well founded, back then.  
Judging from the smell, it was some sort of goulash; I’ve never seen Mazelinka cook anything that wasn’t floating in a pond of soup, but all of her creations were delicious.  
-Selendri! Are you staying for dinner?- She shouted at me from the kitchen.  
-No, thank you Mazelinka, but I have have to be home for dinner and I have to leave now with the bike.  
-Nonsense! It’s raining. Ilya will drive you. ILYAAAAAAAA!- she shouted without awaiting for my answer.  
-But… my bike…- I weekly objected while Mazelinka shouted instructions over my voice. An unintelligible grumble came from the other end of the doorway.  
-I will bring it to you tomorrow at school- smiled Portia. She walked to school, so it wasn’t a big deal to her. Oh well, my father would have driven me for one day. I moved towards the coat hanger to get my jacket, testing the wall with my hand to find the light switch. When I turned it on, Julian was standing by the coat hanger, froze in a hunched position while he was putting on his cloak, blinking like an owl in the sudden brightness.  
He was as tall as the hanger, probably taller, with a wild tuft of hair falling on his right eye. He was wearing his black eyepatch and a pair of bright red tartan pants and home slippers still on. Sid Vicious in soft pants. I smiled awkwardly covering the distance between us. While I played with enthusiasm the role of the entertainer amongst my handful of friends I was still extremely uneased meeting someone for the first time, and spending the long trip home with my best friend’s ill-reputed brother was going to be demanding on me. However, I was also curious of such a subject, and I did want to make a good impression. He gave me half a smile in response, hopping on a foot as he was putting on one boot. We spent some time in silence as he tied a couple of yards of shoelace up to his calves, then we moved to the kitchen to wave our last goodbyes.  
-You never met Ilya before, did you?- asked Mazelinka, pointing at him with a wooden spoon. –Don’t let him scare you just because he’s in a pirate phase.  
- _See you later, Mazelinka_ \- Julian talked over, and he turned to open the main door. I hurried after him as he went down the outer stairs.

Mazelinka’s house was a two-story old house; the proper apartment was at the first floor, while the ground floor was a single room full of tables, old chairs and sofas and an even older kitchen counter covered in mason jars. Mazelinka spent all of her time there, making jam and possibly liquor and going upstairs only to cook and sleep. The house had a private garden-slash-parking lot, I really don’t know how to describe it: there were flower bushes and fruit trees, but it was mainly gravel and the only car of the family – Julian’s car – slept there. It was an old Volvo, the kind with pop-up headlamps, predictably black. We got inside as quickly as possible.  
-When she says pirate phase- Julian said abruptly. –She means that I don’t want to wear my prosthetic eye.  
I said nothing; it was a debut too personal and couldn’t find a word to say. Julian continued, unfazed by my silence.  
-It’s not even correct: I am wearing my prosthetic, even now. I don’t like how it feels without it. But it doesn’t move… well, it does, but it’s never really in sync with the other eye, and it looks weird. I prefer to wear the eyepatch, and if that makes me a pirate, then so be it – he turned to look at me. – I’m telling you because I know what people say and… well, now you know it’s not an act. Spread the word, ok?  
-Ok… uhm, wanna know my address?  
-It might be useful, thanks. I explained him how to reach my condo while he fumbled with the CD player and turned on some music. I didn’t know the song, but the singer’s voice sounded familiar, so I ventured a guess:  
-Nine Inch Nails?  
-Oooh- he grinned. –Glad to know that you’re into some actual music.  
-Got a problem with Mr. Manson? – I was ready to fight whoever dissed my beloved reverend. I had a serious crush on the man; I’ve always had a soft spot for lanky guys with big noses.  
-Mmmmh. The music itself is not that bad, but he’s… too loud. Too much make up, too much provocative shit. I just don’t buy it.  
-Many good artists have flashy looks. Think about Kiss.  
-Hah!- a raucous bark of a laughter. – You like Kiss? How old are you?!?  
-I’m old enough to appreciate good music, thank you very much. And what about Bowie?  
-Are you seriously comparing Marilyn Manson to _David Bowie_?  
He had a point. –No, I guess I’m not.  
-You’re forgiven. Want a cigarette?- he fished a packet from the pocket of his coat, squirming in the car seat to get it. He was really, really tall. His legs looked never ending.  
-They would smell it at home- I replied unhappily.  
-Don’t worry, I have gums. Mazelinka never found out I smoke. Or perhaps she doesn’t care. Here – he moved the packet in my direction and I helped myself. He also tried to light it up for me, but I was sitting on his blind side, so I had to steady his hand in mine to complete the task without accidents. He didn’t seem to notice; his attention was elsewhere.  
-Do you hear it too?- He asked.  
-Hear what?  
-A rattling noise… it comes from your side of the car.  
Sure enough, something was rattling and tumbling and it came from under my seat.  
-There must be something underneath…- I reached my arm and felt around with my hand. – It’s a beer can. A full one- I announced pulling it out.  
-Marvellous! This is a gift from above and we must honor it- his hand extended in my direction and I put the can into his grasp before he grabbed something else by mistake.  
He opened it with a hand, keeping it beneath his thighs, and took a long gulp.  
-Wow- I giggled nervously. –Smoking, drinking and driving in the rain. You like to live dangerously.  
He looked at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. -You’re right – he said, and for a while he just drove in silence. I busied myself feeling stupid and childish until he steered the wheel unexpectedly, entering a small parking lot.  
-What are you doing?  
-I refrain from putting our lives in danger – before I could find something to say, he had parked, reclined his seat and eased himself with an arm under his head and the beer in his hand. The glint of his cigarette danced in the halflight as he happily sighed:  
-That’s life. God, I love simple things.


	2. The One with the Piglets Talk

-I, uhm, really need to be home before 8.00 -  
I won’t lie: I was shitting myself. He was my best friend’s brother, but was it good enough a guarantee? We were alone, in a car, in a parking lot. At night. You don’t go far as a woman if you don’t learn to avoid such situations. He glanced at the dashboard’s clock:  
-it’s 7.25.  
-Oh. –  
-Sooo… how’s school? – Now he seemed nervous too. Maybe he realized that he got ahead of himself? Maybe I was overthinking. Suddenly I wanted a sip of beer.  
-Excuse me?  
-I’m trying to small talk here, girl. Lend me a hand?  
-About school? I’m in high school. I find it boring and _I’m living it_.  
-Yeah, sounds familiar.  
-You, rather. You attend med school, how is it?  
-Oooh – he steadied on his seat, straightening the hem of his t-shirt. – Exhausting; confusing; exhilarating…  
-Have you started practicing on corpses yet?  
-Well well well, we have a little morbid miss here. I like it- his smirk was perfect. It was the smirk of all smirks, and he looked absolutely diabolical. In a second, I empathized with all the girls talking about him. I reached and took the beer can from his hand.  
-Hey, you’re a minor! I cannot possibly let you drink!-  
-Then stop me – every time I felt nervous, my response was always a rush of aggressiveness so random and disproportioned that I’m sure nobody ever gave me the slightest credit.  
-Absolutely not: I’m going to witness your descend with the utter delight.  
- _Corpses._  
-Right. Corpses are… stinky. I know, I know!- I had snorted laughing –It’s a terrible thing to say, they were people, and their bodies serve a noble cause, but goddammit it’s disgusting! Not much at the beginning of class because they are fresh out the refrigerated cells, and the whole place is hella cold to preserve the corpses, but after a hour or so they start to warm up and the fun begins. Did you know you only work on one corpse during your first year? They assign one to your team and you will perform every dissection on it. You start with muscles and the last thing you will cut is the brain, and towards the end I swear: it looks like the most disgusting gym bag full of unwashed clothes ever.  
-Did you ever faint?  
-No. But I threw up. And retched multiple times. You can’t really understand if you had never smelled it. It’s… foul.  
-You know when they make you dissect a frog in science class?- I asked. – I loved those lessons as a kid. I was even a little creepy, but I was proud of the fact that I was not disgusted by the frog, the cutting… anything. I claimed that I wanted to be a surgeon. But then, last year they had us dissect a piglet.  
Julian nodded understandingly: - Ah, the piglet proves hard. They’re so cute.  
-It wasn’t even that; it was the thought of this… this teeny tiny life that didn’t even stand a choice. Every class do the piglet dissection; every year. How many piglets are those? Were they bred specifically to not being born at all? I just couldn’t do it. I even got a demerit – I took a long sip to hide my lips trembling; that memory always made me emotional.  
-I stole my piglet.  
- _What?!?_  
-Yes. At the end of class I wrapped everything up and stuffed it in my bag. It was the last hour, so I just left. But the following day I got suspended.  
-Why in the name of God did you steal a dissected piglet?  
-Well…- he smiled apologetically. – To eat it. I brought it to Mazelinka and it turned out just delicious, to be honest. This way at least its death would have served… the best possible… would you stop laughing?  
I couldn’t help myself: the thought of this beanpole casually strolling from school with a bag full of butcheries obliterated the mourning for countless piglets. I laughed so hard that I choked; a curse in my family: we choke easily. Julian laughed along for a while, until my coughing hiccups had him patting anxiously at my back.  
-Hey. Hey, are you alright? Look up, look… up… - he raised my chin with two fingers. – Stretch your windpipe, here. Aaaah, feels better, see? Already better. Oh, look at you, you cried your makeup away. You look like a raccoon. The cutest raccoon – he hurriedly corrected at my panicked expression. He started wiping my cheekbones with cold fingers. –Just the cutest… little… raccoon.  
That’s when it did occur- to both of us at the same time, it seemed. I had my face cupped in his hands, and he was craning over it. His face fulfilled my field of vision, every color a slight underwatery hue that the night outside borrowed us. His eye was pearlescent- which color was it, anyway? It was hard to tell, it was hard to think. I felt my ears light up in flames. Julian’s cheeks flushed as well, but he didn’t back up. Instead, he moved an inch closer. His fingers stroke me once more, slowly.

Of course, that’s when my cell phone rang.


	3. The One with the Simple Minds' Song

I don’t know if you ever owned a first generation cell phone. They were huge. Mine was a Motorola with a pull-out antenna; it was as big as an intercom receiver and its ringtone was deafening. It made us jump on our seats and pull from each like we were caught red-handed. I glanced at the dashboard clock as I frantically rummaged through my belongings in my bag: 8.05. Late enough for my mother to start panicking.  
-Mom? Yes, I’m coming. No, I’m almost there, but it’s raining and there’s been an accident on the road… no, mom… mom, _I’m fine_. I just had to wait until they cleared the road. Of course I stopped the bike to answer to you. Yes. Yes. Mom, the sooner you hang up, the sooner I will be home. Ok? Ok, laters.  
-Wow – Julian said. – That was a nice save… or not?  
-Damn! Damn! I was such a moron! – I was punching the air in frustration. –Why did I come up with the accident bullshit?  
-Because you are late and needed a good excuse?  
-I told her I’m on my bike!  
-Oh.  
-What am I gonna do now? Even if they don’t notice tonight, how am I supposed to get to school tomorrow? They will find out for sure!  
-Ok, don’t panic- he took me by my shoulders and made me turn towards him. – It’s gonna be fine: I will drive you home, then I will go back to my house, take your bike, shove it in the back of the car and park it at your place. Easy-peasy.  
-No way. I cannot ask you-  
-You’re not asking, in fact: it’s my idea. And it was my fault: I have torn you from your family to force you onto alcoholism… except it was my family and you ripped the beer from my helpless hands.  
I couldn’t help but smile. –Thank you, that’s… thank you.  
-Forget it. Now, how far are we from your place?  
-A couple of minutes, more or less.  
-Good. Because now – he wiggled his eyebrows at me. –We need to soak you up.  
-Come again?!? – My ears were probably glowing red by that moment.  
-You cannot go home nice and dry after supposedly spending that much time in the rain – he replied, fumbling with a handful of CDs. – Don’t worry, I’ll keep you company. But we need a proper soundtrack… ah, there you are – he inserted the CD and selected a track, then he jumped out of the car.  
  
_Hey, hey, hey, hey_  
_Ooh who…_  
  
I watched him get around the car and come to open the car door on my side with a bow.  
  
_Won't you come see about me?_  
_I'll be alone, dancing you know it baby_  
  
-Julian, what-  
-Shhh. Come out and dance – he jumped a step away and spun, water sprinkling from his fanning coat. I crawled halfway out of the car.  
- _Simple Minds?_ Really?  
-You sure are stiff for someone so young- he reached for my hands and pulled me out. –There’s no better song for dancing in the rain! – The storm was so loud we had to scream against it. – Apart from _Singing in the Rain_. And I left that CD home – he made me pirouette under his raised arm, steading me with one hand as I clumsily tried to maintain balance. Julian wasn’t much of a dancer, but he was graceful in an oscillating way. Me, not even that, but I put effort nevertheless, stomping my feet in puddles, spreading my arms under the deluge.  
-Why are we doing this, again?  
-Oh – he answered, flipping wet hair from his forehead. – Because we are young and we believe we’ll never die. But mostly because you need to look wet and this is more funny than simply stand and wait. Ready? Here comes the grand finale! - He put a hand on my back, grabbed my right wrist with the other and dipped me so low my ponytail brushed the ground. I squealed and he laughed as the music faded out.  
Then he pulled me up, of course, against his chest and all noises faded under the rumble in my ears. The hand on my back slid around my waist, his arm enclosing me. My eyes were at the level of his collarbone; I saw his throat pulsating as he swallowed. I tried to look confident as I found his gaze. He smiled slowly, reading my bluff. He _was_ handsome, towering over me, hair slicked back by the rain. He let go of my wrist, brushing a finger up to my neck; a little electric shock followed the trail. The car stereo played a song I didn’t know as his long hands cupped my face once again and I closed my eyes, clutching at his t-shirt.  
His lips touched mine for just a second: -First time? – He whispered against my mouth.  
-First time – I confirmed. He smiled; I felt it.  
-I’m honored.  
He was a sweet kisser; then he was a passionate kisser; then, an exigent kisser. He gently leaned my head back to ease into the kiss, his tongue soft and his breath smoky as mine; he sucked my tongue in his mouth as if it was delicious and my legs turned into hot jelly. I clung onto his shoulders to keep from falling, from drowning, from dying and he pulled me close, bending because he was so tall. He licked lightly my upper lip as I gasped for air and sealed it with a peck.  
-Little raccoon - he smiled.- You can come to rummage through my garbage anytime you want.  
-I… am so wet! – I blurted out and regretted immediately. Julian burst out laughing. He gestured me to get back in the car while I blabbered about the rain to regain some pride, in vain.  
  
We didn’t talk much on the way home; it didn’t take long, anyway, and it’s not easy to casually make eye contact with a man who literally turns a blind eye at you. He drove humming to the music playing, a small smile on his lips. I made him pull over before my house, in case my father was surveilling the driveway from the window; it wouldn’t have been the first time.  
-Here we are, then. Go. Run home before you catch a cold, I’ll bring the bike in no time.  
I gave him the keys to the locket. – Thank you. And… be careful.  
-Never- he grinned. – And it’s been a pleasure.  
I picked up my bag from the car’s floor. _Kiss me_ , I kept thinking. _Kiss me once more, kiss me goodbye, just… kiss me again_.  
-Selendri.  
I turned, heart racing, but he was just lending me a packet of chewing gums.  
-Oh, thank you – I took one. –Uhm, where can I throw away the envelope?  
He took it from my hand. Then, he took my hand.  
-Come here.  
And then I was in his arms, both of us frozen and drenched in water and his mouth found mine, a thin gleam of white teeth showing below his lip. I sucked at that lip like he had done with mine, I licked underneath, where the skin was unbearably smooth; he bit my lip and I buried my hands in his hair. He did the same and pulled gently away from me.  
-Not enough time for a proper goodbye. You have to go, and I have a bike to deliver.


	4. The One with the Tumor Thing

When I got home, I was so dazed that my parents had no problems to chalk it up with the shock of witnessing a car accident. I played along babbling about a crushed moped and a body carried away in an ambulance. I was sent to take a shower and change into some dry clothes before dinner and I spent that time staring into space with a hand full of shampoo that I forgot to apply, endlessly replaying the last half an hour in my mind. So, that was kissing. Why were not people doing it, like, _all the time?_ If that was kissing, what in the name of God was sex?  
When I got back into my room to get dressed my cell phone’s display was lit up. I picked it up and it showed an unread message. The number was one I didn’t know, but my clues were soon confirmed:  
WE ARE GLAD TO INFORM YOU THAT YOUR  
BIKE HAS BEEN SUCCESSFULLY DELIVERED.  
CARE TO TIP THE DELIVERY BOY?  
I ran to the window. There he was, under a lamppost; how long had he been there? I hurriedly typed:  
DON’T STAND IN THE RAIN! GET BACK IN  
THE CAR!!!  
I saw him reading and typing back… and bringing the phone to his ears. I was quick at picking up the call before it started ringing:  
-Which car?  
-I cannot speak, they may hear me! – I hissed. - What do mean with “which car”?  
-I came on foot. Or rather, I came by bike, but will leave on foot. Turns out you can’t fit a bike in the back of my car.  
-Are you crazy? Did you bring an umbrella?  
-Nope. I’m all here, darling – I saw him spreading his arms to me. –What I will do now will be a nice stroll in the rain towards home.  
-You can’t do that! Call a taxi!  
-I already did. But it’s nice that you worry for me – I could hear him smirking.  
-Bite me, Devorak.  
-Next time. It’s a promise.  
-I… have to go – I giggled. _I giggled_. I was exhilarated. I barely listened to anything my parents said during dinner, I didn’t pay attention to the movie we watched after dinner and I forgot to wash my teeth. I’ve had my first kiss.

-So – Portia said, while we smoked a cigarette during recess the next day. – Care to explain why my brother yesterday night came back soaking wet after driving you home, asked me for your number, left again and came back one hour later?  
I deserved it. After the excitement for the late event had faded, a stinging question had arose in my mind: should I tell Portia? He was her brother. She never talked much about him, and I had always assumed that it was because we had more interesting stuff to talk about, but she could as well had just been a private person. Still, I ached to tell her everything about it. I had took no resolutions the morning after, but Portia had acted fairly normal with me up to that point, and I was not prepared to the direct question she asked me. Taken aback, I opted for the truth.  
-I… uhm. We kissed – I felt a nervous smile come up to my lips and I swear that I fought it, but I lost.  
-Eeeuuuugh, girl – Portia looked at me with contempt.  
-Look, I understand that he’s your brother and you don’t see him like that, but-  
-Oh, quit it Selendri; I’m not blind. My brother is _gorgeous_. But, my brother plus my best friend… it kinda grosses me out. It’s physiological, I swear.  
-Are you angry at me?  
Portia huffed.  
-No. But I’m bummed, because I want to know everything and it’s gonna be about my brother’s tongue- she shuddered. Then she punched my arm. – Ok. Commence!  
Without speaking about it, we both moved to the girls bathrooms; there was no other place for such a discussion. I told her about my mother’s phone call and Julian’s plan to make me look like I had actually spent time in the rain.  
-…he made me dance. With him. And then…  
- _And then he kissed meee_ – crooned Portia. – Well, I’ve always known Banana Boy had a taste for the scene, but this time he went big. A dance in the rain. Wow.  
-But he had literally just met me!  
-…but is he any good?  
-What?  
-Julian. Is he good? Was it a nice kiss?  
-It was a great kiss, Portia. It was the kiss of all kisses. I think want to kiss your brother for a-living.  
-Ok, first of all: gross. Secondly: you only gave one kiss, it’s seriously not enough to call it a big deal.  
-We kissed twice, actually – I cared to look at the ground between my feet to avoid Portia’s glare.  
-Gross.  
- _Portia._  
-I’m messing with you. So, are you going to get together? Are you already a couple?  
-What, no. I don’t even think it will happen again.  
-Why not?  
-Because we don’t know each other. We kissed because the mood was right, I guess.  
-But do you like him?  
-Don’t ask me! – I grabbed my head. – I don’t know. He’s cute. He was… I liked talking to him. But I don’t know him! And I’m thinking about the whole thing much, much more than I should.  
-Of course you do! You have a crush on my brother!  
-Fuck you, Portia!  
-Sleepovers are gonna get a lot more complicated from now on.  
-We never had sleepovers- the bell rang. We exited the bathroom, headed for separate classes.  
-I was planning to have one. You, me, and my brother’s boner.  
-I hate you.  
-I hate you too! – We parted smiling.

I went at Portia’s the following afternoon and I was quite nervous for the implications: I haven’t heard from Julian since the only time I’d see him, and I had spent way too much time staring at my mobile phonebook trying to decide whether to text him or not. This way a day and a half have passed uneventfully and as I rang the Devoraks doorbell my mind was a blur of questions: would he be at home? Would he come to say hello? Why hadn’t he called?  
Portia opened the door.  
-Hey there. Ilya is dying.  
-I’m sorry, what?  
-He caught a fever after the remake of _Singing in the Rain_ – she let me in and followed to the clothes hanger as I got rid of my jacket. – You should go to his deathbed.  
-I don’t think so. Haven’t heard from him at all.  
-Oh, he’s probably too weak and sweaty to pick up the phone. Men are wussies. I’ll be in the living room – she marched away, leaving me alone in the corridor.  
Unlike Portia’s (crested with a plate with the words “WELCOME TO THE ARMAGEDDON”), Julian’s room door was plain and unassuming. I knocked lightly, but no answer came from within. Still, I got in.  
It was clearly a room dating back from many years before, when the concept of home comfort was expressed through solid, massive dark wooden furniture. The wardrobe hid the whole right wall, up to the ceiling; a huge writing table with a lot of drawers stood under the window, its chair a ponderous monster with dark green leather padding. There was a bass guitar resting against a small amp in a corner, its case open on the floor, half-filled with sheet music. Shelves covered the left wall, crowded with books and small objects I couldn’t quite make out in the dim light. The bed was at the other end of the room, headboard against the wall. It looked small compared to the rest: just a single bed with small posts, a black poster on the wall over it. I managed to read it only once I came closer: _Bauhaus – Crackle_. That boy did know good music.  
Julian was sleeping on his right side, his back facing me. His mouth was slightly open, eyebrows relaxed, a slight sorrowful expression. He was breathing through his mouth; the nightstand was covered in cough drops and used tissues. The eyepatch hung from the reading light, over a copy of some medicine book. He let out a long sigh and pulled an arm from under the covers; probably the fever had him feel hot.  
My heart sank a little: from the middle of his forearm, up to where the t-shirt sleeve hid it, his arm was striped in scars. Some were so thin I wasn’t sure if my eyes were playing tricks on me; others were thick and short, like stabbing marks. All of a sudden I felt bad for him, a sting of pain pierced my chest; he looked so vulnerable, so fragile despite his size, sleeping ill and alone in the bed of someone else. Unable to resist, I placed a hand on his forehead, moving as softly as I could. It felt quite hot, but I’ve always had cold hands and couldn’t judge properly; Julian leaned into my hand, a content sound purring from his chest. He turned towards me, waking up slowly; I saw his brows knitting together as he focused on my unfamiliar form. Then he smiled. Then he startled, eyes wide, and slapped a hand on the right half of this face.  
-Uhm. Could you… - he gestured past me, towards the night stand.  
-You don’t have to. It’s no big deal for me, I swear.  
-It is for me. Please - he replied firmly. I gave him the eyepatch and he turned his back on me while he put it on; then he fell back on his back, smiling faintly at me.  
-Hey - he patted the bed with a hand and I sat by him. He raised a hand to caress my cheek. – I’m glad that you came.  
-Well, yes… Portia invited me – he frowned again.  
-So did I.  
-No… you really didn’t.  
-I tell you I did! I did it just hours ago… I can prove it – he fumbled with the bed’s duvet until he found his cell phone. – A-ha! Told you… oh.  
-What?  
He lent me his phone without a word. I read:  
MADEMOISELLE RACCOON,  
ALAS, A CRUEL DISEASE CONSUMES  
ME. MY DAYS ARE NUMBERED,  
WOULD222222222222222222222  
222222222222222222222222222  
222  
-I fell asleep over it – he looked miserable, and I laughed.  
-Don’t be so sad! It was a great message, and I’m glad you were thinking of me – his eye twinkled as a lopsided grin spread on his face.  
-Don’t think too highly of me. My plan was to spread the plague all along – his long arms raised to encircle me, pulling me down towards him. I happily surrendered, but he changed his mind halfway and pushed me back to my place. – What am I doing, I don’t want to rub it on to you. Sorry.  
-So you’re a gentleman, after all.  
-Certainly not – he replied insulted. I lowered my mouth to his ear.  
-Neither am I – I whispered.  
-I do hope so… - his words died as I kissed his cheek, his jaw, his lips. He pushed my hair behind my ear. –Are you sure?  
I kissed him again. His mouth had the mineral taste of fever, ferrous like blood. I stroke his neck, his collarbone peeking from the hem of his t-shirt; his hand caressed my spine, slid under the sweater, under the t-shirt, under the tank top. He laughed against my mouth:  
-How many layers are you wearing? It’s April!  
-Yes, and you’re in bed with the flu. I suffer cold, that’s it  
-I may have a couple of hacks for you – he drew me closer, pressed me on his chest, his arms wrapped around me. That’s how Mazelinka found us as she entered the room unannounced.  
-Enough of the smoochies now, kids. I know your parents and I don’t want to get in trouble.  
I had already jumped on my feet, far from the bed. –You don’t know my parents, Mazelinka.  
-I know parents. Julian, you have to take your bath.  
-Mazelinka, for the hundredth time: there is no scientific proof that Nevivon salts are an actual medicine.  
-You will take your bath anyway, because you stink. This poor girl here, I don’t know how she survived.  
-I don’t stink! And I refuse to take a bath while we have guests at home.  
-Like you don’t want to get naked with her around.

I ran from the room, my face on fire, while the discussion heated up. Portia welcomed me from the couch of the living room.  
-Hello, stranger. Judging by the shouting it’s bath time.  
-So it seems – I grabbed Pepi, Portia’s fat seal point cat, and brought it to the sofa with us. – Portia… I saw scars on Julian’s arm. What do you know about it?-  
-Oh, those. He started when he got back from the hospital; he used to tell me it was Pepi teething, but Pepi has never bit _me_ – she scratched the cat’s belly and a steady purring sound promptly ensued. –Isn’t it true, meatball? You never bit anyone because you’re just a giant loaf of love – Pepi closed its eyes as Portia kissed it repeatedly on its head.  
-Wait a minute… hospital?  
-Oh, you didn’t know? Man, you really don’t know my brother – she sneered.  
-You could have told me.  
-Julian had a brain tumor when he was a kid… 10, 11 years old. That’s how he lost his eye, and that’s why we came to Vesuvia: so he could have surgery.  
-A brain tumor? – it was a huge thing to process. People died of those things.  
-Yes. The doctors said he could have kept his eye if we had him visited earlier. I don’t know why we didn’t, I was, like, five and Julian never seemed ill to me. Then, one night he woke up screaming. We had the same room and it scared me to death; I remember I flipped the light on and he was holding his head. His eyes were wrong… like, one was normal, but the other one was pointing upward. Mom and dad were trying to talk to him and he just kept screaming, screaming…  
They didn’t let me go to the hospital; even after we moved here they never let me visit him. Mom later told me the doctors put him into a coma the moment they visited him, and he never woke up until after the surgery.  
-Oh my god. How long till he came back?  
-Almost one year. At first we moved all together here: I slept in Julian’s room, my parents slept in mine. Then dad had to go back to Nevivon, start working again. He would visit on weekends. But I had to start school, so me and mum stayed. Eventually she came back to Nevivon, once Julian graduated. But for the first couple of months we were all here. When Ilya came back… I struggled to recognize him. He was so thin… they shaved a patch of his hair away, and his eye was all bandaged. He wanted to be alone, and refused to be photographed until his hair grew back; there’s not a single picture of him in a three years amount of time – Portia lowered her voice, her eyes fixed on Pepi. – But once, a couple of years ago, I sneaked into his room… I knew he hid cigarettes somewhere and I wanted one. I found this box under his bed, and it was full of photographs.  
He had been taking pictures of every damaged part of his body: the stitches on his scalp, the bruises from the shots and the IVs, his eye… before he got the glass eye and I tell you it was a gruesome sight. There was a shot of his throat and the sores from intubation. His handwriting… we mock him now, tell him he has the perfect doctor handwriting, but he… basically had to re-learn how to write- Portia’s voice crackled. – He must have felt so lonely, he di-didn’t know anyone and I… I was bitching all the time because he got all the attention!  
-Pasha… I’m so sorry…  
Portia’s first crying sighs turned into a whelp as Julian startled us both, crossing the living room in three steps and hugging her. How long had he been there? I got up and ran to the kitchen to grab some paper towels while Portia bawled:  
-Why are you apologizing, you dummy? I am the one who should!  
I put the towels on the sofa, then quietly backed out of the room and closed the door. I crossed the corridor to find Mazelinka in the kitchen, sweeping the floor. I hadn’t noticed her the first time.  
-They are good kids.  
-Mazelinka, I think I’m going home, leave them some room. Tell them I say hello.  
-You are a good kid too.  
-I wish there was something I could do.  
-Be understanding. Be patient – Mazelinka’s accent was strong, but her vesuvian was better than she thought. – We Nevjvöds are different from you people: we have a history of suffering, it runs in our blood. Pasha is strong, she is a fighter. But Ilya, he’s a martyr: too much pain, too soon. Thinks it’s his destiny. Maybe you can remember him life is not that bad – she smiled at me amongst a cobweb of wrinkles. –Sit. I make tea.  
-No, thank you Mazelinka. I’m going home. Keep an eye on those two, will you?


	5. The One with the Garden

Portia called me later that evening, basically to call me a moron because I’ve left. Part of the reason why we were such good friends was that none of us was touchy-feely: we rarely hugged, never kissed, never went around hand in hand like all the other girls seemed to do. And were not sentimental: we could _talk_ about feelings, even for hours, but up to that day I had never saw her cry, and vice versa. I was thankful that Julian had intervened when Portia had started crying: I wouldn’t have known what to do.

Julian called me too, while I was dining with my parents; my cell phone was in my bedroom and I didn’t hear it. I found out only in the morning, when I was getting out of home to go to school, that I had a message and a missed call. To think about it now, it was amazing how much time could we go on without ever checking on our phones.

The message didn’t make much sense to me:

WELL, I TALK TO MUCH. YOU DIDN’T   
HAVE TO LEAVE. I THINK I OWE YOU   
SOME EXPLANATION, MAYBE CALL ME  
WHEN YOU HAVE TIME?

So I checked the voicemail:

_“Hey, uhmm- it’s me. Er, Julian. I-I wanted to thank you for yesterday: you basically caused an unexpected family moment and we needed it. We didn’t know we did, but  yeah, we did. Also… it was delicate of you to leave us some time, but you didn’t ha-“_

Okay, so the voice message came before the text. I was still confused, though: what explanations was he talking about? I called him while I pedaled down the familiar streets that led to the school. He answered after the third ring, while I was about to hang up:

-Y’ss.  
-Uhm… Julian? It’s Selendri.  
-Hey there- his voice was sleepy and I heard rustling noises in the background.  
-Were you sleeping?  
-Uh… yes. What’s the time anyway? It’s… barely dawn!  
-It’s 7.30- a whelp pierced my ear from the receiver. – Ok, maybe I will call you later.  
-No! Stay, I’m up now anyway. What do you need from this humble servant?  
-I’m asking you, actually: you called me yesterday.  
-Sure, but those are not things to discuss on the phone. What if we meet at the Gardens in half an hour? I just need a quick shower  
-I’m going to _school_ , Julian. Like, right now.  
-Oh, are you?  
-Well…  
-Because I’m looking at the horoscope, and it clearly states “this morning a tall, dark stranger will snatch you away from your daily routine”.  
-You’re not dark, Julian.  
-And I’m not a stranger, either; horoscopes are a hoax. The Gardens? Half an hour?  
-Ok. I’ll bring coffee.  
-You’re too perfect for this world.

I hung up, smiling. As I turned my  bike towards the Gardens I pushed back once again the urge to question the nature of our relationship; I didn’t really know what was the standard course of this kind of events, if it was expected from me to start asking for a validation, a title to give to what we were doing. Were we dating? Were we exclusive? Did I want us to be? I only knew that I liked the feeling of having him around; he gave me butterflies and I wanted them to last as long as possible.  
I texted Portia that I would have skipped class that day and she answered with the picture of a penis realized in ASCII characters. I was still giggling as I secured my bike outside the Gardens’ main entrance.

There were many gardens in Vesuvia, but the Gardens were the only one who deserved their name in the city map: centuries old, they originally belonged to the ducal palace; once it burned down they became a public park. They had an odd concentric structure, each ring following a different style: French baroque, Italian renaissance, Heian era… increasingly more ancient as you got closer to the center, where the statue of a prancing ram fought its way out of a circular hedge of briar. The reasons behind this strange choice of garden landscaping was a mystery, but all in all nobody complained: the Gardens was a beautiful place, plenty of picnic spots, unexpected gazebos, topiary art and a multitude of kiosks where you could stop at to get a coffee and smell the flowers.

I heard Julian’s car approaching before I got to see it: the music preceded it.

  
_Oh, yeah, it was like lightning_  
everybody was frightening  
And the music was soothing  
and they all started grooving  
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

The Volvo paraded along the street in front of the gates of the Garden, searching for a parking spot; I saw Julian, an elbow resting on the window’s brim and absolute black sunglasses concealing half his face; when he saw me he blew me a kiss with a flourish of his arm before driving on and away. He looked like a rockstar; he knew it.  
I didn’t have to wait long for him: less than five minutes later he was trotting towards me up the sidewalk, hands deep in the pockets of a discolored pair of jeans, a white shirt and a studded jacket on his shoulders. He was still whistling the refrain of _Ballroom Blitz;_ I gave him the cup of coffee I had bought earlier and he kissed my cheek before taking it –Good morning-.  
-Good morning to you. Sorry I woke you up.  
-Forget it. My sleeping schedule is messed up anyway and you’ve already redeemed yourself bringing me coffee – he took a long seep. –Aaah, sweet nectar and ambrosia.  
We walked aimlessly around for a while until we found a wrought iron bench to sit on.  
-So, I’m not good at small talk…  
-Good. Neither am I – he agreed.  
-What is that you wanted me to talk about?  
-Well, - he ran a hand through his hair. –Portia told me you saw my scars, and then you talked about the tumor…-  
-I’m sorry. I know it’s none of my business.  
-No, on the contrary: you deserve to know such things. I… kinda pulled you into this… _thing_ without really knowing each other. I owe you to be correct.  
-Julian, no. I mean: correctness is a thing, but you don’t have to tell me anything if you’re not ready to. It’s true, we don’t know each other. I don’t even know your actual name! Is it Julian? Is it Ilya?  
-It’s Ilya Fjodorovich D’vorak  
-Wow.  
-Portia is Pasha Fjodorovna D’vorak  
-That’s impressive.  
-They’re pretty common names actually.  
-Anyways… this thing that we’re doing, I don’t even know what it is yet; I like you, you are… I like you. And I want to know you – I was getting nervous. –I want to know everything about you, but you don’t have to start from scars and tumors, that is.  
Julian smiled, hunched over his knees, the empty coffee cup dangling from his fingers.  
-Thank you.  
I shrugged. He removed his sunglasses and hung them by the neckline of his t-shirt; when he turned to look at me I was surprised by the red that rimmed his eye.  
-Are you still ill, Julian?  
-Just a cold. No fever and I’m not contagious anymore. Not that this discouraged you last time.  
-Then kiss me.  
His grin widened.  
-At your service.  
It was a gentle kiss; it’s hard to keep hands off each other at the beginning of a relationship, and it’s even harder when you’re a hormone-pumped teenager, but I found myself enjoying that sweetness; he tasted like coffee, and a vague minty scent of toothpaste. I noticed he always took a moment to watch me close before kissing me, lips parting the very last second, the same lips that were now gently brushing against mine, tongue dancing lightly on them.  
-I think that kissing also counts at getting to know each other.  
-It surely does - he agreed. - And so did our first chat in my car.  
-The one when we talked about corpses?  
-We also talked about piglets.  
-Dead piglets.  
- _Delicious_ dead piglets. Come now – he scooped me up without effort and stood up from the bench. – Let’s go for a walk.

We wandered for a while and eventually I convinced him to put me down. As we approached the center of the Gardens we started noticing a number of workers trafficking with electrical cords and streamers. The Masquerade was approaching.  
-It’s that time of the year again… are you going? – Julian asked.  
-Why, you are?  
-Of course! I never miss a chance to dress up. You don’t like the Masquerade?  
-I don’t know. I’ve never attended one.  
-Oh my – Julian stopped abruptly, a suffering expression on his face. – This is a terrible thing, you don’t know what you’re missing… well, you’re missing the whole fucking town getting drunk while some terrible commercial pop plays at deafening levels, but it’s really funny. Why don’t you come?  
-I don’t think my parents will let me. They’re a bit on the overprotective side.  
-Tell them your best friend’s adult and responsible brother will chaperone you both.  
-You mean the 20 years old, gothically inclined pirate? That one?  
-I’m 21, thank you very much. And I have always carried Portia home safe and sound. That, or the other way round. Either way, a complete success.  
-I don’t even have a costume.  
-You can hire one, you have plenty of time; the Masquerade’s on Saturday night.  
-Today’s Friday!  
-Then you need Portia. She’s an ace in these things. Come on, at least try. For me? I’m way too dashing in costume to spend the whole night on my own.


	6. The One with the Masquerade

They say some men age like wine; if that’s so, I think as I watch him cradling a cup of coffee in his long hands, Julian must be some sort of  fine cognac. In his early thirties, the term that suits him most is none less than _gentleman_ : the black turtleneck he’s wearing enhances his aristocratic pallor; his hair is shorter than they have ever been, a low fade on his temples that blossoms in a wavy pomp, tidily combed. He wears a sleek, metal wristwatch and the boot that peeks from the hem of his perfectly creased pants looks way more suited for fox hunting than mosh-pitting. Even so, there’s a leather jacket on his shoulders and the familiar eye patch greets me as he removes his frameless sunglasses.  
-Well, you sure look different than last time – I smile. The Julian I had met after the whole lawsuit ordeal was the wreck of a man, a shaky ghost with hollow cheeks and eyes like the Lady of Sorrows.  
-Not to mention the time before that – he agrees.  
-At the funeral? That was understandable.  
-Still, it was quite a show – he takes the cup to his lips, a distant look in his eye.  
-Did you keep in touch with Nadia?  
-Not really. She may have forgiven me, but that doesn’t mean she wants me around. I don’t blame her.  
-She holds no bitter feelings against you, believe me.  
Julian smiles fondly, watching me fish the teabag from my cup: I squish it with my fingers before setting it aside and taking a sip from the cup. I put it down almost immediately, alarmed by Julian’s shocked glare.  
-What?  
-No sugar? None whatsoever? What happened to the sugarvore girl I knew and loved?  
-Ha-ha-ha. I’ve learned to like my tea without sugar – I laugh at his pained expression and add: - _Nor lemon_.  
-Oh, my poor heart. Have you changed that much?  
-From when I was fifteen? I’m afraid so.  
-Fifteen… have we ever been so young?  
-Don’t make me think about it – I bury my face in my hands – I was so awkward!  
-What are you talking about? You were absolutely adorable.  
-I wore black lipstick and red eyeshadow! I carved a _pentacle_ on my school desk!  
Julian reaches to pat me on the shoulder. –I know, I know. When I was fifteen I owned a walking cane with a silver ram head as a handle.  
-I think I saw it… you were wearing it at a Masquerade.  
- _Our_ Masquerade? No, my costume didn’t require it.  
-Not that. One after we broke up. I saw you in the crowd, but… you know. Wasn’t in the mood to come say hello.  
-Oh – Julian fiddles with his teaspoon. – Was I wearing a nice costume, at least?  
-Plague Doctor? Sure. I just couldn’t appreciate it fully – I should probably give him a rest: so much time has passed since then.  
-Ah, that year. Christ, it was terrible. I really liked our Masquerade more.  
-So did I.  
-You were stunning – oh, his smile. After all these years, Julian still shines like the sun when he smiles at me and after all these years I feel my heart jump in my throat when he does, and I hope it doesn’t show too much.  
-I should have understood that you swung both ways when you got all emotional over my costume – I grin.  
-I swear on my life that my love for Mademoiselle Oscar is completely heterosexual.  
-Yes- I laugh. –Mine too.

And it had felt fantastic. The day of the Masquerade had been the happiest of my life: like in a dream, my parents had allowed me not only to attend the celebrations, but also to spend the whole day at Portia’s crafting our costumes _and_ to spend the night there. Portia had some sort magical power when it came to parents: they all loved her and she could manipulate them at her please. Good thing she didn’t feel the need to do it too often.  
The idea for my costume came ravaging in the attic: Mazelinka, like many elders, had troubles getting rid of old stuff, and would rather pack everything in cardboard boxes, label then with unintelligible markers scribbling and store them in the attic. That’s where I found a box named “ _Julian-band”_. I opened it greedily, expecting to find it full of demo tapes, flyers and lucky guitarpicks. Portia burst out laughing at the sight of my expression.  
-I’m sorry, I should have warned you, but I couldn’t resist!  
I slowly picked up the white shako with golden buckles and a decrepit plume dangling from its broken calamus.   
-He was in the school band?  
-Yessir. Played the saxophone. You know, this jacket is not bad – she took it in her hands. It was white with complicated golden froggings and blue lining; there were also coordinate pants. – We could make something out of it.  
– Oh my god – I said. –I could do Oscar.  
-Who?   
-Mademoiselle Oscar, The Rose of Versailles!  
-Oh. My. God. – Portia grabbed the box and marched downstairs. I hurried after her and we went further down, entering Mazelinka’s den, where she was sorting bottles in old fruit crates.  
-Auntie, we need your help with a costume!

-Ah, that woman was pure gold – Julian sighs.  
-She really was. I still miss her and I didn’t even got to know her well.  
-She liked you.  
I shrug – She liked me because you liked me.  
-I did. I… You  were so beautiful that night.  
-Yeah, you kinda mentioned it. It was totally worth spending the whole afternoon wearing rollers.

The costume revealing was an event per se: the Devorak kids kept their outfit secret until the very last second, when they met in the entrance hallway for the catwalk. Thanks to this tradition Julian spent all the day holed up in his bedroom while I discovered the joys of spending a long time standing very still while Mazelinka pinned the old uniform around my body to adjust it.  
It was past 7 PM when Mazelinka called us to leave, and she was quite a sight as well: draped in traditional Nevivon robes and with a long pipe in her hand, she looked straight out of a fairytale.  
-Mazelinka, you’re coming too!- I exclaimed.  
-Of course: Mazelinka’s handmade potions are an important ingredient of the Masquerade – said Julian’s voice from behind my back.  
I turned to face him and he flashed me a charming grin, hands behind the back. I stared at him, mouth agape.  
-Captain Harlock…  
His eyes grew wider too, as they ran up and down my costume, my hair, my face. Mademoiselle Oscar wore considerably less make up than I usually did.  
When we shook off our shocks, we jumped at each other in a flurry of excited compliments.  
-You are _perfect!  
_ -You are stunning! That’s my old band uniform? Good job, Mazelinka!  
-You have straightened your hair!  
- _I_ have straightened my hair too. And it took _forever –_ grumbled Portia. Julian turned to look at her.  
\- American McGee’s Alice? It’s the Masquerade, not Halloween.  
-I see you keep dressing up as monocular characters – Portia replied. – How about portraying someone else than yourself for a change?  
-I can’t really tell: aren’t you a psychobitch in a psychobitch costume?  
-What am I supposed to be? Some sugary Disney princess? No thanks. This was the only red headed woman with some spine for miles. I’ll dress as Sally Skellington for Halloween – she concluded with a smirk. – You can be Jack if you care so much.  
\- Then I’d rather have Selendri as Sally – he took my hand. – It would be a wonderful couple costume.

-You know – Julian leans across the table. – Even though I didn’t say  anything back then it nearly broke my heart that you didn’t rejoice at the thought of a couple costume.  
-You were running so fast! I was overwhelmed! – Julian doesn’t answer, but picks up a fork and mimes a stab at his heart. I pointedly change the subject:  
-Portia was a great Merida this year.  
-Yeah - he grunts. – Next year she should dress as Princess Fiona: Nadia could be Shrek.  
-Julian! Don’t be a douche!  
-With a little luck, by then they might be already able to bring a couple of baby ogres with them.  
There’s a pause.  
-Selendri. What’s that face?  
-Face? I didn’t make any face.  
-You know something. Tell me.  
-Portia would get mad at me if she knew I’m telling you. She wants to wait until she’s sure.  
- _I’m going to be an uncle?_  
A big, bright smile spreads on his face, then he fumbles to find his cellphone. Laughing, I fight to catch it from his hands.  
-You cannot tell her anything! She will tell you when she’s ready. You’ve had your gossip, now behave.  
He doesn’t let go of my hands; he’s still emotional and all nervous giggles. I squeeze his hands in mine, his long fingers perpetually icy.  I rub them to warm them up and they curl around mine, eventually enveloping my whole hands.  
-I still think we should do couple costumes – he says softly.  
-Any suggestion for the theme?  
-Give me some time. I will find the perfect idea – he smiles fondly at me and I don’t know what to say. Despite my nonchalance, in the engine room of my head everybody is shouting and panicking; it must show. He must know.  
-I’ll tell you more – he continues, startling me. – I am sure we could win the costume competition if we try. What the hell, we could have won even back then, our costumes were amazing.  
-We didn’t stand a chance; remember who competed back then?  
-Oh. The golden couple – Julian’s gaze drifts afar. – You’re right: we didn’t stand a chance.

I had been impossible not to notice them: the crowd parted like the Red Sea before them everywhere they went. I was wandering around with Julian; we had left Portia to help Mazelinka with her liquor stand. They had shooed us with slapstick jokes about not wanting to catch diabetes having us around them and Julian gladly caught the opportunity to lead me around. I was dizzy with amazement: it was the first time that I saw the Gardens during the Masquerade, and to my eyes they looked straight out of some fairytale. Everything was wrapped up in string lights, the trees turning into sparkling canopies, while small lanterns blinked in the flowerbeds below; people walked the gravel paths in their costumes, many of them wearing hired baroque gowns with a few quirky touches. I had the feeling of being in the ball scene of _The Labyrinth_ ; therefore, when I saw Lucio for the first time I was only half surprised.  
I still count Lucio as the most attractive man I had ever seen, regardless of personal taste: he was dazzling in formal clothes; he was handsome in a pair of jeans; he was stunning when naked. That night he emerged from the parting crowd wearing a royal uniform, complete with sword, riding boots and a cloak lined with ermine. He wore a single, golden armor arm that looked like real metal; on his other arm came the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Her skin was the color of caramel, her figure was regal, her face would have made Naomi Campbell quit her career without a second thought; she wore a robe of golden green satin, her naked arms glittery with bangles; a complicated pompadour hairdo enhanced her noble features. On top of everything two majestic hounds, silvery white, strolled along the couple. They weren’t on a leash, but both wore ornate golden collars. The four of them walked leisurely, with that ease that only the true blue-blooded can muster.  
And then that impossibly beautiful man saw Julian and called him.  
-Hey! Doctor! Pirate doctor! Yes, you!  
Julian moved towards him like hypnotized, dragging me along. The royal caravan stopped to meet us and the crowd resumed its flow around us.  
-See, Noddy? I told you I met a guy who actually lacked an eye _and_ is a doctor!  
-He’s dressed as a pirate, Lucio, how should I believe you? Excuse me – she composed herself and reached to shake Julian’s hand. – Nadia, nice to meet you.-  
-It’s, uhm, it’s Captain Harlock. – Julian said, taking her hand mechanically.  
-I’m sorry, what?  
-My costume: it’s not “a pirate”, it’s… it’s Captain Harlock. I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I’m Julian.  
-Exactly! Julian, that’s the name – rejoiced Impossibly Beautiful Man. –There was a J on your badge. And you surname is… something with a D. Dovak? No. Devorak! Am I right?  
-That’s correct – Julian said slowly. He looked really confused.  
-You don’t remember me, right?  
-I’m very sorry…  
-Oh, Lucio. What a strike to your ego! – Nadia laughed patting at his shoulder.  
-No surprise – grinned him. – Doctors don’t remember faces, only pathologies – he shook his left shoulder ostentatiously and the golden arm clung and rattled; it really was made of metal after all. Julian snapped his fingers.  
-Of course! The ortho class, the body-powered… ehm…- he trailed off, blushing.  
-Prosthetic arm, yes – Lucio finished for him. –Don’t worry.  
-Well, erm.. how do you feel it?  
-It’s the most comfortable plastic hand that I’ve ever kept in my pocket, thanks. I like this one better, but it’s hella heavy.  
-It’s really beautiful. Both of your costumes.  
-I know, right? Look at this babe – he made Nadia pirouette to show us her costume. She smiled graciously, flattered by our compliments. –They’re the exact copy of the Duke and Duchess of Vesuvia in their last official portrait. Well, apart from the arm, but I couldn’t resist.   
-We are going to compete for the Best Costume prize – explained Nadia.  
-No, we are going to _win_ it. In fact, we were going to sign up. See you around, doctor!  
Away they went, drawing everybody’s eyes on them. We stood for a while, still dizzy from the encounter.  
-So he lacks an arm?- I asked.  
\- Yes. A grenade, he was a soldier. They managed to save the shoulder. He was trying on his new arm when I was following the round of the orthopedic doctor. They did a wonderful job, but without an elbow there’s not much you can do, even with the newest prosthesis.  
-What a pity… Such a beautiful man.  
-Oh! – Julian cocked an eyebrow. –Should I be jealous?  
-What! No way. Have you seen that woman? How could I compete?  
-You’re tearing me apart, Lisa.  
-What?  
-Never mind.

-You know- Julian says setting down his cup. –He left me that arm- he doesn’t look at me.  
-What, the golden one?- it’s bizarre, but still in Lucio’s style. –And what did you do of it? Hung it over your mantelpiece?  
-No, I… I had it melted down and cashed the money. Turns out it was gilded with real gold. Lots of it, actually.  
-You… what? Why?  
-Had no choice. It came with a letter that stated clearly I had to sell it and use the money to settle down- he smiles faintly. –So, we can say that the arm _is_ my mantelpiece. And my clinic.  
We sit quietly for a while, both running a personal memoir of that impossible man in our minds.  
-I guess this is when we should say that he was a nicer guy than he looked – I try.  
-Yeah… except he wasn’t. He was an entitled piece of shit. But he was completely honest.  
I search for something to say, but I am saved by the buzz of Julian’s mobile.  
-Hello? …What? But it’s scheduled at… _what?_ \- he glances at his watch and jumps on his feet. –Oh my god. No, no of course… they’re absolutely right. Tell them I’m on my way.  
He scrambles to pick up his things and fights briefly with his jacket before finding both sleeves; then he’s by my side.  
-I’m so sorry: I have to run back to work. Time flies when you’re having fun- he grabs my hands for a moment, then shies away. –Would you… ahem, would you like to do this again some other time?  
-Next Tuesday?- I hope I don’t sound eager.  
-Yes. Thank you, it would be perfect – again he gives me that warm smile and years fall from him like a layer of dust. Then he straightens, rummages in his pocket and throws a handful of crumpled bills on the table before striding off the place. I take a look at the money: way more than needed, and a foreigner banknote in the bunch. I sigh and order another tea.

-Do you love him? – Portia asked me that night, as we laid in her bed.  It was really late: Julian had brought us home and went back to help Mazelinka close and dismantle her liquor stand at the end of the party. By the time they were back we had took our showers and changed into our best pajamas for the night. Mazelinka surveilled that me and Julian kept a decent distance during bedtime and only allowed the quickest goodnight kiss; she was cool, but not _that_ cool. And now we were in her queen bed, in the dark, both too excited to sleep, and Portia had asked me: “Do you love him?”  
-Why do you keep asking me? I don’t know, like: there hasn’t been enough _time_ to concentrate about this question.  
-I don’t think you’re supposed to concentrate on love. You should just feel it.  
-It’s too early.  
-And how long is enough? Is there a minimum amount time required to get the “love” status? Do you get to pass a test?  
-You’re overreacting  
-No, it’s just that sometimes I think that when it comes to love people think through clichés: I mean, if you think about it, what’s being in love? You meet someone, you find them interesting, you find them attractive, and you find out that you think about them a lot and that you want to spend a lot of time with them: bam, done.  
-That’s attraction – I objected. –Then you have to really know them, and like everything you see. And like it a lot.  
-And until you don’t know everything, it’s not love?  
-I don’t think it is.  
-But it can take _years_. And until then it’s not love?  
-I don’t know… I don’t have any experience about this.  
-I think it can be love even after a short time. Maybe not the most mature kind, but still love, in a way.  
-So, you believe in love at first sight?  
-Now you make it sound cheesy.

I shifted a leg, the texture of the sheet unfamiliar under my skin. We both laid on our backs, careful not to touch each other accidentally: it was the first sleepover for both of us, and we weren’t sure of the etiquette. I blinked in the absolute darkness to shake the eerie feeling of not being really aware whether my eyes were opened or closed.  
-I think he loves you – she said.  
-Oh - I found myself smiling. Portia said nothing. – Is it a good thing or bad?  
-It’s… look, I don’t know. I think if Ilya loves you, he will love you with all he’s got. But… sometimes I think that he’s love starved, or something like that.  
-So, you think that he’d love me because I’m basically the first one that bumped into him close enough? – it was a depressive thought.  
-No! Listen, you’re a great person, you’re my favorite person. He’d be lucky to have you. But, he’s a mess. Truth be told, I’m asking you to be kind to him.  
-Woah, no pressure – I sneered. – Of course I will be kind to him.  
-This said, you’re my best friend; if there’ll be need to choose side, I’ve got your back.  
-Thank you. It’s a relief – I meant it.  
We didn’t talk much after that, and not about that subject. Portia finally gave in to sleep, snoring lightly until she rolled on one side.  
I, of course, couldn’t sleep: the bed wasn’t mine, and I was sharing it; the boy I liked slept on the other side of that wall. It was a lost cause and I was getting restless, so I carefully got out of bed; my plan was to head to the living room, grab a book and a blanket and wait for sleep or the dawn.

I didn’t go far: as I stepped into the corridor I caught sight of a blade of light coming from under Julian’s bedroom and I heard something: the sound of  a muted guitar and a whispered singing:  
  
_My sweet Josephine_ _  
Won’t you come and marry me?  
I got every kind of love that you would ever need  
Dying here on bended knees  
  
_ I pulled the door ajar and peered inside: Julian sat on the floor, hunched over the guitar he seemed to cradle; his fingers followed the chords with infinite precaution; his hair hid most of his face, swaying gently as he mouthed the lyrics of the song, the light of the reading lamp making a halo of it.  Without thinking, I stepped inside the room, barefoot on the carpet, my shins prickling for the goosebumps in my pajama shorts. The music stopped as I was closing the door. I turned to meet Julian’s glare, wide-eyed at my sight, a tentative smile on his lips. He had just the time to put the guitar aside before I dropped down in his arms. I found his mouth before he could say something to turn me away, but he welcomed me unreservedly: his arms encircled me, one hand diving in my hair; his lips parted with the faintest sigh. I eased astride him, smiling at his sharp inhale and prompt reaction; though unexperienced, I knew the theory of sex and I had an idea or two about what to expect from the male body. I smelled his scent right where the ear meets the neck; kissed the shivering skin, licked it, took a mouthful between my teeth. Then he did the same to me, and I realized that what I had been unprepared to were _my_ reactions: my whimper had a throaty snicker shake his chest.  
-Shush darling, or you will have us busted – his hands gripped my hips and I hid my face in the hollow of his shoulder as he ground me slowly and deliberately against him, clothes too thin to pretend I didn’t know what I was feeling. I clawed at his back, my conscious mind melting in a puddle. Cool fingers slid under my shirt, up my chest. My skin turned to foam under his touch.  
-Are you… is this ok for you? – he whispered in my ear. I grabbed his wrist, pushing his hand faster, just a little faster, please… “God” he sighed. “You’re beautiful”.   
My face was burning. I was embarrassed, yearning, exalted. Julian leaned me on the floor, his free  hand stroking, pinching, hidden by the shirt; soon the other joined in. He bent down on me, kissed my forehead, the tip of my nose, my lips. Then lower. And lower still. The struggle to catch my breath was lost  as he slowly crumpled the top of my pajamas in his hands to kiss underneath, the scorching tingle of his mouth stealing the air out of my lungs, turning my legs into shaky things, his tongue trailing down my belly.  
-Can I?  
-What?- I couldn’t hear properly amongst my gasps.  
-Can I? – his fingers hooked the hem of my shorts. –Please?-  
Of course he could.  
A few moments later he was crawling up my body again, laughing lips pressed against mine “That won’t do, darling: you’ll wake up the house this way”.  His hand replaced his mouth between my legs, taking acquaintance, rubbing gently, each fingertip sending prickling fits of pleasure up my spine. “Maybe we should stop this”  his finger found the spot, the right spot; my whole body tensed towards it. He held still, barely pressing, moving just enough to keep me on the edge. I didn’t move or breathe for fear of having him stop, my every sense focused on that tiny patch of throbbing skin, swollen, aching for one more touch. I don’t think that Julian realized how close I was: he smiled as he watched my desperate eyes and covered my mouth with his, but I was already coming apart, my pulse cut open by the slightest stroke, too worked up to take it anymore. A surprised sound came from Julian’s throat and he pulled me closer, letting me moan into his mouth, my nape resting in his hand, fingers digging into his  shoulders. I twitched the last few times, cupped in his hand. I smelled my scent as he moved it away and trailed it to my face for a gentle kiss. When I opened my eyes he was looking at me like I was the most moving sight ever.  
-Don’t look at me like that – I mumbled.  
-Why not? Hey. Put those away- he pulled my hands from my face.  
-I’m embarrassing, I’m… all undone and…  
-Beautiful- he cut me off. –Also… you better get used to it: I plan on having this happen as often as I can.  
I curled in a ball against him, laughing nervously in his chest and he hugged me.  
-Oooh, what’s this? Should I take it as a compliment?- I nodded and he kissed my hair. –Now you should go back to bed: it’s so late that it’s early. Hey. Wha- what are you doing?  
-I want to return your kindness – I purred against his neck, stroking the cloth stretched over his erection. I was actually terrified of doing it wrong, and couldn’t summon the courage to look at _it_ , but I was determined to do my best. Julian gulped audibly.  
-Fo-forget it, it was a pleasure- _mh…_ \- he tensed when I cautiously tightened my grip. I could feel the strain building up in his body, hips unwillingly arching towards my touch. I slid a hand past the waistband of his pants and underwear. My heart was pounding. I closed my fingers around the hot skin, soft surface on the rigid shaft; it felt thrilling and surreal.   
- _Hah!-_ Julian panted. He bent over, a hand closed on my wrist. It didn’t pull me away, though.  
-Am I… doing it right?- His neck twitched under my whisper.  
-Oh God. Selendri-

A door creaked on the hinges. We froze. Mazelinka’s steps shuffled along the corridor, muffled by the slippers. I scrambled on the floor and crawled behind Julian’s bed. He didn’t move, still on the floor, hugging his knees to hide the bulge in his pants. We waited, one step after the other, holding our breath; eventually the click of a doorknob informed us that she had gone to the toilet. We both sprung upright.  
-Now! Go, go _go_!- I sprinted to the door, turned at the last second and kissed him. I fled to Portia’s bed and got under the covers as quietly as I could, while my whole body sang exultantly for the mix of adrenaline, arousal and emotions that I didn’t want to name.  
Portia mumbled something and rolled on her back, resuming her snoring. I laid in the brightening day, a stupid smile on my face.


End file.
